


The Lads in Their Hundreds

by lha



Series: The Lads in Their Hundreds [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: Malcolm Reed was a choir boy and it changed his life.Stillness was something that his father had instilled in him from a young age but this had felt different; the quiet anticipation before he was given his entry was something that he’d find again years later when he was laying on a hilltop with only his rifle for company as he waited for his mark to cross his path.





	The Lads in Their Hundreds

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of two parts that are a pair more than a story. Malcolm Reed and his great great grandson have more in common than an obsession with weapons.

Malcolm couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure that neither of his parents had an active faith. Being part of a more traditional community however, church had played a large part in family life and as a young boy he’d been swept into the choir stalls at an early age. It was just another routine to begin with, what he did on a Tuesday evening and on Sunday mornings but as Malcolm got older the time he spent at rehearsals became increasingly important for no other reason than he was away from home. His father had never expected this would be something he should excel at, it was just something one did and the lack of pressure when everything else was so fraught made it all the more enjoyable. Whether it was this lack of expectation or something else entirely it turned out that Malcolm was really quite good.

The first year he was sent home with a note to say he had been selected to open the service of Nine Lessons and Carols, his father had been out of the country. His mother had simply added the time of his extra rehearsal to the family calendar and that had been that. He’d had to stand on a box so that he could see over the edge of the organ loft, but stood there alone, watching the parishioners file in and fill the pews he’d felt incredibly calm. He had been told he had to be quiet, that he shouldn’t fidget with his cassock or ruff or touch the candle that was attached to his folder but he didn’t seem to find that as difficult as he knew his peers would. Stillness was something that his father had instilled in him from a young age but this had felt different; the quiet anticipation before he was given his entry was something that he’d find again years later when he was laying on a hilltop with only his rifle for company as he waited for his mark to cross his path.

[Once in Royal David's City](https://youtu.be/TT3cfXd3Shk)

When he’d been sent away to school, he’d realised that singing in the chapel choir excused him from some of the terribly onerous team sport commitments that came with this sort of education. If his parents came to rugby matches, cross country meets and prize giving ceremonies but never to services or concerts that was something that suited Malcolm well enough. His voice broke the summer that his father missed out on a promotion. He’d always been quiet particularly at home, but those months in Portsmouth he became taciturn and withdrawn. His father had forced him out on a dingy more days than not and given the effect that this constant exposure to the sea as well as the atmosphere in the house had had on him, Malcolm could see in hindsight why alarm bells had been raised when he’d arrived back at school.

He’d grown a foot over the summer but he weighed less than he did when he’d left and terrified that his voice would betray him at the most inopportune moment, he stepped down from the choir, or at least tried to. The choir master was the one who sought him out, who had refused to let him disappear entirely into his studies and his failures. It had taken several months but his voice had mellowed into a rich baritone and as he’d filled out as much as he ever would. Over the following years, music had provided him with a safe place and given him solace. Summer tours had allowed him a reprieve from the harsh expectation of home, seasonal commitments allowed him to justify not returning home at Christmas and Easter.

Had Malcolm joined the Navy, the choral tradition would have been part of that life and at one point he tried to convince himself that would have been enough to make it bearable. Self-delusion had never really been a strong suit however and for as long as he’d known about the existence of Starfleet it’s draw had been stronger than anything else.  
It was a young organisation however, so different from everything he knew. There were not chapel choirs, or even close harmony accapella groups but the possibilities that it held were so great that this loss seemed like nothing in comparison.

It was long time after his training that he’d found himself singing regularly again. It wasn’t until he was on board a vessel though, he realised how often he retreated into hymns or arias, when the acoustics of the bulkeheads of his quarters were as far removed from a cathedral as you could imagine and his neighbours could hear everything. When he’d been assigned to Enterprise however, and it was unfinished full of long cavernous crawl spaces, he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d been singing Faure’s Libera me (badly) when the chief engineer had stumbled upon him. That was the first time he’d met Trip Trucker the man he’d eventually marry.

Alone, he’d sung _‘The day thou gavest Lord is ended', _over the bodies of his fallen crew during the Xindi mission, he’d happily serenaded his husband with some of the more risque naval shanties that he’d learnt and he’d gently hummed Bach chorals to his daughter sleeping in his arms. When they returned to earth, he’d gravitated to a local church and a choral society and while Trip understood neither he supported him every step of the way and always applauded louder than was appropriate. The day of Charles’ funeral, when his name was added to the wall of those lost in the line of duty, Malcolm had stayed at the memorial longer than anyone and at the setting of the sun as he read those names of all those he’d known and lost he once again found a tune swelling from his soul;__

____

_The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair, There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold, The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there, And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old. ___

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_There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart, And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave, And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart, And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave. ___

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_I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern; And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell And watch them depart on the way that they will not return. ___

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_But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan; And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. ___

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___[A Shropshire Lad](https://youtu.be/b4kPNyQc5Ro)  
_ _ _

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____ _______A E Housman___  
Set by George Butterworth  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed. I'd love to hear your thoughts either way here or over on Twitter @LHA_again  
> Lx


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